|
|
|
Going Home |
| Written by mike counselman | |
| Tuesday, 19 August 2008 | |
GOING HOME
Fish! What the hell did they need with more fish? The freezer was full, and she'd already fried ‘em, baked ‘em and boiled ‘em until she was blue in the face. She told him as much, but he just went out back and cleaned the mess of big old trout he'd caught at the lake. By the time he came back with the fillets, she had cornmeal, flour and pepper mixed together in a pale blue china plate and a heavy iron skillet heating up on the stove. When the pan was hot enough she poured a little oil in, watching it sizzle and pop as she dredged the fish in the cornmeal mixture and eased it into the pan. The pungent odor of frying fish filled the small kitchen. She leaned over the sink and slid open the window letting the hot grease smell waft out to the driveway where the old man was unhooking the boat and stowing his gear. He came in through the back door and hung his rumpled baseball hat on a hook next to his keys. "Oh mommy, don't those fish smell good." He said sidling up to her and planting a soft kiss on the nape of her neck. "You old fool." She said softly, and pushed him away with her hip. "Ain't you tired of fish for dinner?" "Never." He said loudly, washing his callused hands at the kitchen sink. "And you better get used to it too. Cause as soon as I find us that little piece of property up near the lake, we'll eat fish every night." "Oh, you ain't never gonna' build that cabin and you know it ." she said scolding him. "We're both too old and too poor to go live in some cabin on that lake. You been saying the same thing for thirty years and nothing come of it yet. Now go set the table before I burn these fish." "Now don't you go giving up on me miss Elsie." He said with a wink. " I promised you a cabin in the woods, and by God, someday you'll have it." And he kissed her with a flourish and went singing into the dining room, dealing out plates and glasses in a clattering flood. She turned back to the cooking fish and a wave of confusion swept over her. The skillet was gone. Along with the stove, the kitchen and the sound of Cecil abusing her good china. The clattering was still there, and so was the smell of fish, but everything else was gone. She opened her eyes when she felt someone tugging at her sleeve. "Mrs. Foster? Mrs. Foster. You've gotta' wake up now. It's time to eat." She looked up, disoriented, into the smiling face of a nurses aide. "You O.K., Elsie?" the nurse asked. "You look like you're a million miles away.? More like thirty years she wanted to say, but both the years and the miles seemed to stretch behind her. She managed a weak smile. "Oh no Juanita, I'm fine." "Well here, let me help you a little." She said, and eased the wheelchair a little closer to the table. "You gotta' eat, you know." And Juanita was right, you did have to eat. She chased a corner of one of the fish sticks into the little pile of tartar sauce and speared it with her fork. She chewed the bland morsel carefully and watched Juanita help one of the other inmates guide a shaky forkful into his mouth. Thank God for small favors. She could still feed herself. She drenched another tiny bit of fish in the sauce, trying to impart some flavor into the processed flesh. It sill tasted dead, inert. A species totally unrelated to those fat rainbow trout she cooked in her dreams. The thought of her dream sent a tear sluicing down her wrinkled cheek. It was such a blessing when he showed up in her dreams. The mind is an amazing thing, she thought. She couldn't tell you what she had for breakfast this morning, but that memory of Cecil was crystal clear. That mischievous wink, that soft kiss on the nape of her neck that he knew sent a shudder down to her toes. He was there. He was real, and they were in the little house on Mariposa. The one with the apple tree in the back that he had grafted with five kinds of apples. The low white picket fence that wrapped its arms around the small front yard, holding the kids and the grandkids in a loving embrace. Her neat little kitchen where she made countless meals, including his damn fish. The little empty house she'd come back to after the funeral. The unbelievable quiet after the last of the well wishers had left. She wandered from room to room engulfed in the silence. She ended up in the kitchen putting away the massive amounts of food brought by the mourners. She stretched plastic wrap over the top of her daughter-in-law Sara's spaghetti and turned to put it in the fridge. The greasy bowl slipped from her fingers and crashed against the floor, shattering and sending a spray of sauce across her clean linoleum. She gazed, frozen at the blood-red smear, and then methodically pulled every dish from the shelves slamming them one after another into the growing mess on the floor. Sobbing and screaming she wrecked her kitchen pulling dishes from shelves, emptying cupboards until exhausted, she collapsed to her knees. She felt the glass cutting her, but there was no pain. Her soul had surely died. Now if she could just get her mind and body to follow suit. She found herself sitting in the dark on his side of the bed, his night stand open. She could see the gleam of the stainless steel thirty-eight revolver in the drawer. She knew it was loaded. It would be so easy. Quick. Then she realized how disappointed Cecil would be. She pushed the drawer shut and took a shower, picking the glass out of her knees. She thought about cleaning the kitchen but decided it could wait until tomorrow. She thought she better get good at waiting. In the morning she cleaned the mess in the kitchen, took out the garbage and went on. That's what her generation did, they went on. She woke from her day dream to find herself almost alone in the dining room. Juanita was working her way towards her bussing dishes and cleaning up. She looked at Elsie's plate, the food barely touched. "Mrs. Foster, you couldn't keep a bird alive on the little bit you ate." "I'm sorry Jaunita. I guess I dozed off a little." And unfortunately you could keep a ninety-five your old lady alive on very little. "Well, You eat a good breakfast tomorrow and I'll over look it. Besides, you want to be well rested tomorrow. It's Tuesday and the girls will be coming." "Is tomorrow Tuesday?" she asked. "It sure is, and you want to be ready for company don't you?" The small Chicano woman smiled at the old lady. "Those are some good grandkids, you know." "I know." She said. "I sure do." Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, they all blended together here at the home. But Tuesday, ahh, Tuesdays stood out. The girls came on Tuesdays. Thank God for the girls. And she did every night in her prayers. It was what separated her from most of the other inmates. The staff hated it when she referred to the patients as inmates. And she really shouldn't, it was a nice place as far as convalescent hospitals went. Old, but clean and neat, with people that really cared. But that's what she felt like. An inmate convicted of the crime of living too damn long. Everybody in here was serving a life sentence without the chance of parole. Hardly anybody walked out of a convalescent hospital. Five kids, umpteen grandkids, and a handful of great grand-kids, but if it weren't for the girls visiting her faithfully, she'd be like most of the other inmates. Waiting to die alone. Tomorrow was Tuesday, though, and her two granddaughters would be there and she did want to be at her best. It was terrible when she was having one of her bad days on Tuesday. When she would wake up angry and confused and the staff would have to up her medications. Juanita was right. A good nights sleep would be just the ticket to have her in a fine fiddle for her girls. To her amazement, Cecil visited her dreams again, and he was young this time. Okay, he wasn't young, but the gray was gone from his hair and he was tanned and well muscled. A work shirt with the sleeves sheared off at the shoulders and a welders cap with the short brim turned up framed his handsome face. He had a camera pointed at her and she could see the shores of an alpine lake in the background. It took her a minute to place where she was at, and then it all came flooding back. It was the summer before they left L.A. for good. It was Stumpy Meadows reservoir and they had dragged the whole clan north in that bright pink station wagon. The De Soto. The kids were still little, so they'd left L.A. late on a Friday evening. By dark thirty the children were asleep, and they passed the quiet hours talking and drinking coffee from a thermos as the miles sang beneath their tires. By dawn they reached the campground and eased into a site. She leaned into his arms and slept until the full daylight woke them. It was a magical trip. One of those rare occasions when the fish were biting, the misquitos weren't, and all the kids acted like family,. It was on the way back to Los Angeles with the whole brood tired, dirty, and happy that Cecil announced they were moving. The kids were shocked and then excited. "Can we live at the lake?" little Dallas, the youngest asked. "Well, probably not right away. But someday son. Someday." And so they had moved. Not to the lake, but to that little house on Mariposa Ave. That little empty house. But in her dream, she was back on that lake on that pier, holding up that stringer of fish, and the flash Cecil was holding went off. Blinded, she blinked, her eyes dazzled by the brightness. She held up her hand to shield her eyes and saw the sun-dappled cement of the patio. She was back in the home, and her granddaughter held a small automatic camera. The shock and sadness of her reality must have shown on her face. She fought back tears. "You ready to go back in?" grandma. Lisa asked, suddenly concerned. "Yeah, its probably getting a little warm, huh, grandma." Sharon said. Together they maneuvered her wheelchair back into the wide corridors of the institution. They said their good-bys and waved as they left the parking lot, leaving her looking out the window smiling bravely. Everybody was going home but her. The girls going home to their families. Her kids, out there somewhere, going to sleep. Did they think about her? She pulled her covers tighter around her neck and snuggled deeper into the quilt, the warm memories of that idyllic summer on the lake fresh in her mind. She said her prayers and drifted off, willing another visit from her late husband, but it wasn't to be. She slept fitfully that night, waking up around midnight with a headache throbbing painfully in her temples. She sipped some luke-warm water from the glass next to her bed and managed to slop half of it down her pajama top. Disgusted with herself, she sopped up what she could and turned over and went back to sleep. She woke as the first gray light of dawn was slipping through the cracks in the curtains. She opened her eyes, gritty with sleep, and closed them again, a groan escaping her lips. The headache that had bloomed in her temples had snaked evil tendrils of pain down her neck, making every movement agony. A fire burned in her throat and she could hear her breath rasping harshly. She jabbed at the button that summoned the orderly and it was several minutes before he strolled in casually. One look at her flushed face and a hand against her fevered brow and he was rushing to the phone. The doctor and the ambulance arrived at the same time and he rode with her to the hospital, holding her hand and monitoring the fluids dripping into her arm. She remembered the ambulance pulling up to the emergency dock but not much after that, they must have given her something to knock her out, because the next thing she remembered was waking up in the hospital bed. Groggy, she looked around to find her granddaughters standing on either side of the small bed. They smiled, but she could see the tracks of the tears and the grief and worry they were trying to hide. She reached out a hand to each of the girls and they gently took hers in theirs, lightly stroking the parchment thin skin. They stood that way for several long and loving minutes none of the three saying anything. Elsie managed a weak smile and the girls did their best to smile back and eventually she drifted off back to sleep warmed by the thoughts of her girls. They sensed she had gone to sleep and reluctantly released her hands, tucking them back under the covers and pulling the bedding to her chin. Hand and hand they walked out of the hospital the tears falling unheeded from their eyes. Elsie slept soundly that night, her breathing deep and slow. It seemed like it had been years since she had slept this good. The thin hospital blankets felt as warm and soft as a down comforter and the small hard pillows like the best feathered cushions. Totally relaxed, she slipped deeper into the warm darkness and dreamed. She dreamed of him, and it was vivid and clear and amazingly wonderful. He came to her in the dim but never dark rooms of the hospital. She woke up and sensed someone standing beside her bed in the muted light drifting in from the hallway. She studied that silhouette not saying a word. He held his cap in his hands and she could see the tousled curls and the strong nose in profile. She knew who it was even before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "How you doing, Mommy?" he whispered in her ear. She couldn't answer fearing it would break the spell and she would wake up. This close she could smell him. That mixture of bay rum, tobacco, and sweat that she had forgotten. He smiled at her and took her hand and gently pulled her to him hugging her close, the rough stubble of his beard scratching her skin. She let her fingers touch his face tracing the contours not believing the reality of this dream. He smiled back at her and God he was gorgeous. He was that young wild hellion that had swept her off her feet so many years ago that it seemed like ten lifetimes instead of just one. The one her parents hated which made him that much more desirable. The motorcycle riding, Levi wearing fool that had stolen her heart and given her his for almost fifty years of marriage. She pulled him close and hugged him frantically to her feeling the hard muscles and bones under that tough-guy leather jacket. God. Please don't let me wake up yet. Not yet. Just a few more minutes here with him. She felt one of his callused fingers wipe away a tear from her cheek and then he pulled her to her feet. Swaying at first after ten years in that wheelchair, he supported her and she gained enough strength from him to stand. He leaned close and whispered, "Come on Mommy. Lets go home." She wanted to answer that she couldn't. That her legs couldn't support her, that she hadn't walked in years. But he put a soft finger to her lips to silence her and led her gently to the door. She took one last look at the dark and empty hospital room. To her surprise there was still a shape under her blanket. The outline of a figure, unmoving under the thin covers. He pulled her close to him, and his broad shoulders blocked her view. They walked through the quiet hospital corridors hand in hand invisible to the staff that peopled the hallways. It was as if they were ghosts, unseen to the staff. Dreams were amazing, she thought. She drank in every detail of him, his eyes, the way he walked, the touch of his hand on the small of her back so sensuous. He caught her gaze and lifted her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. She was shocked to see her own skin. Gone were the wrinkled and liver-spotted flesh that age had draped her with. Her skin was soft and glowing like a young girls .As they stepped into the cool night air, she caught her reflection in the glass and stopped dead. It was if she stared at a stranger. No, not a stranger, but a distant relative. A cousin or friend from childhood, forgotten by the conscious mind, but familiar. She looked at herself in the reflection. This stranger was her, seventy-five years ago. The thick mane of dark hair, yet untouched by gray, The eyes clear and blue, looking into the promise of the future. And Cecil beside her young and strong and smiling as he let her linger and look at the mirage of her dreams. Then he led her away and tucked her into the front seat of that hot-rodded Ford he'd been driving when they first met. "It's a long ride, honey. Why don't you get some sleep?" he said. And she wanted to argue because if she was to wake, this wonderful dream would be over. But she couldn't. Maybe the walk from the hospital had exhausted her, but she couldn't fight it any longer and snuggled into the warm leather of his jacket as he draped it over her and she slept. She woke to a bright shaft of sunlight that blinded her. Shielding her eyes with her hand she made out the angular shape of the inside of a tent, the front flap tied back and a lake so blue and sparkling it hurt your eyes. A regular thunking noise was hammering in the background and she smelled fresh coffee. Dazed, she pushed aside the tent flap and stepped into a grove of pine trees as tall as redwoods. A half finished cabin sat on a spit of land that pushed its way into the lake. Cecil had his back to her, his muscles flexing as he chopped notches into the next log with a shining ax.. A wooden row boat, painted green, was pulled up on the shore and a soft wind sighed through the needles of the trees. A fire burned in a ring of stones with an old coffee pot tucked into the coals, steam just rising from the spout. She heard the chopping stop and then Cecil was beside her pouring coffee into tin mugs. "I let you sleep in." He said, smiling." It's always a tough journey." "Where am I?" she asked. "Am I still dreaming." "It's no dream Elsie, you're home." A look of sadness came over her and he took her hand. "Why'd it take so long, Cecil? I've been ready for years." He held her hand tight and thought for a minute. "I think it was for the girls. I think you still had things to teach them about strength, and faith, and dignity. And most of all, about love and family. Maybe that was it. But it isn't ours to know. The girls will be fine." They were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle engine booming through the trees. A big blue Harley was weaving through the soft sand, the rider grinning like a maniac. She looked at Cecil and he just smiled. It was Jack on the bike. No longer eaten up by the cancer but hale and hearty and jumping off the bike and running towards them. "The rest of them will be here tomorrow. " Cecil said. "There's been a lot of folk waiting to see you." Her eldest son Jack wrapped her in a bear hug and whirled her around and around. "God, I've missed you. Mom." She was crying and laughing, and her heart felt as it would burst. At last, at last she was home. Cecil pulled her close and gave her a long kiss. "C'mon Mommy, let's go fishing. They're always biting here."
THE END 2/09/04 Copyright 2008 mike counselman |
|
| Last Updated ( Thursday, 11 September 2008 ) |
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|
via Email